Hearts and thoughts
by olansamuelle
Summary: She was the best choice to find Gannicus and have him join them. Spartacus/Mira, Gannicus/Mira.


**Title: **Hearts and Thoughts

**Fandom: **Spartacus: blood and sand / Vengeance

**Characters: **Mira, Spartacus, Gannicus.

**Summary: **She was the best choice to find Gannicus and have him join them.

**Notes: **this fic is the answer to a prompt left at the livejournal comm spartacus2010 event "Roman Holiday": Gannicus/Mira; Vengeance: _Mira is sent to find Gannicus._

_**OOOOO**_

_**Rebels' camp**_

Dawn broke, and with it shifted the sounds of nature. As creatures disappeared others rose, yet among the rebels, Mira was the only one to stir. No longer in the house, no longer sheltered by walls. Ever since the escape, long weeks before. Many things had happened; the weakest had returned to Capua; some had died, fighting, or running from Rome; yet most had remained in the group, fighting for that new and hard to understand freedom, for a newborn ragged family no one really knew how to mend. Many dents shaped its feable unity, and they all knew that. He knew that.

Spartacus had done what none expected a man could do, free them all, yet many were aware that the vow he made that night, standing by Batiatus and Lucretia's bodies was cheered by men drunk of victory and blood, not sense.

Crixus, the true champion for many, had followed him. But his purpose was another, and now that he had fulfilled it, Naevia was in his arms again, Mira wondered if both would stay with them once Naevia's wounds were healed.

What if they left? What would happen to the men claiming to be Crixus' brothers? Would they follow Spartacus? Would they see a leader fighting for an ideal, or a mad man using them for his personal vengeance? Sometimes not even Mira knew where he stood.

With care of not waking up the woman and child sleeping by her side, Mira rose and walked along the camp. It was well hidden, and the men sent to patrol the area had assured them they had some days before they had to move again. Mira liked it there, especially when no one was awake and she was alone and free to think or, quite the opposite, to avoid thoughts and forget the danger they were in.

Last night was one of celebration. They had freed many slaves, Naevia among them. Spartacus would spend most of the night sharing wine and words with Oenomaus.

_Oenomaus_. She whispered the name. It still felt strange not to call him by his former title, not to treat him like they did before. Everyone respected him, yet the chain of command had shifted, and now all free, no slaves, the hierarchy they had to function by was different. It was Spartacus, not him, who had started this, who mounted and steered this wild horse. If Oeanomaus chose to stay, he would no longer be above him. He would not give commands unless told by Spartacus. And the Thracian was no fool. He had kept Crixus and Oenomaus close, and made sure everyone saw he treated them with the respect they deserved, to win the rest.

Names, titles. Some were theirs, others had been imposed. The large B on every former gladiator's arm, Naevia's tattoo, Spartacus' name. That was not his name, he had told her once. And yet now he embraced it, for it was how Rome knew him. The legend, the unleashed beast who slaughtered all of them, the same that had pleased the gods and brought the rain. What did the gods think of him now that he had killed all those Romans? Would they listen to Rome's prayers and release vengeance on them?

_Have we not Gods to send prayers too? It has been so long that I do not recall._

Her feet took her to the clear they had been using for training. When empty it was a beautiful place to be. Mira looked up and could see the sky, her sight unbound.

But she was not alone there, and before she could silently walk away, he turned and saw her standing there. "Apologies. It was not my intention to-"

"Rising before the rest allows me some peace," he simply said, yet his tone did not reveal annoyance.

Spartacus was standing in the clear, still wearing the scabbards, blades on the ground and hand.

"With your swords?," Mira observed. "Are we not safe in here?"

Turning his hand to take a closer look at the hilt of the sword he was holding, Spartacus kept speaking as if he had not listened. "You killed the guard with your bare hands so we could enter the house. I killed more than I can count with only one blade." Spartacus looked up and then walked to Mira, handing her the sword. "The Getae destroyed my village, killed everyone inside."

The Getae. Mira had heard of them but a few times. Ferocious Dacian tribe from Spartacus' lands. She dared not speak, and let the Thracian continue. Deep inside, she knew her heart would be hurt by the sound of her name, and the love with which he spoke it.

"Sura confronted a group of them. She was unarmed, like you, yet managed to defend herself, even kill a beast twice her size. I never saw a woman fight in Capua, but I always knew of your courage. When I asked you such deed, I knew I could trust you."

The confession caught the young woman unaware, trying to find a hidden meaning, the sting that would make her see that his heart still had a wall around. Still, hers was filled with hope, and hope was very hard to kill.

"Is that what you spoke about with Oenomaus yesterday? About trainning the women? You would train me?"

"I would have you survive."

Mira looked at the sword. Since that night, she had killed some more, carrying a dagger, forced to survive, yet not as part of the men's plans. "Some men would not see this with pleasing eyes." Despite hope, Mira would not refuse the harshness of reality, especially when it came to reasoning with him.

"Not all of them. Some would follow you and fight by your side."

_Would he? Was that an invitation? Was that at last-_

Her thoughts were cut. "There is a man," he suddenly said, turning his eyes to hers. "Gannicus, he is called." His voice softened, a gesture Mira welcomed with coldness, weary of the implications of his words. The name Gannicus was distant in time, but she had heard of it, in exchanged whispers, always far from the masters of the house. "A Celt who was Capua's champion before Crixus, and the only one Oenomaus would call friend. I would have you bring him to our cause."

_Some men would follow her. He was not speaking of him. _"Why me?"

"We stand as one, Mira, or at least we try, yet men regard you and the rest with disrispect. If a woman does the task of a man…if you do this and bring Gannicus here-"

"I know of Gannicus and his fame," she confessed in a dry tone, almost sharply. "Slaves would not stop speaking about him having no equal in the arena, nor in a bed. It is not my wit and courage what men will see in me bringing Gannicus."

He chose his words carefully, aware they would feel like darts. "Most men know you too, and where does your heart lie." He did not run from reality either. "Most leave you alone because they think you are mine."

"Your words are daggers. I do not have to stay here and-"

Mira turned hastily, wanting only to disappear, yet the arm of the champion was firm in grasping her wrist and not letting go. His voice retrieved the softness of the man who would have her as a dear friend.

"My purpose is not to harm you, apologies if my words reach further than intent." He waited, hoping she would stop struggling. She did, her head down. If only he could give her that love back. "You risked your life because I asked you to. You asked for a price, and I gave it to you. I cannot give you more than that, but I do not consider my debt is properly paid. I protect you from them until your heart is free again to choose."

"Still my duties in that house are well known and remembered. Neither would it surprise them if you sent a whore to bring that Celt cock to us."

This time the pressure came to both wrists, enough to startle Mira. She met two furious and stern eyes while she heard the blade she had been holding reach the ground as it fell from her hand. "You are not a whore. And never will be again."

She swallowed, and then remembered to breathe. Only then his hands released her. She did not move. Neither did he. "The only man touching you ever again will be that who you want to. And I assure you, Mira, no man or woman in this camp shall see a prostitute. They will see a woman I trust enough to go bring us a legend silenced only inside the ludus."

She accepted with a silent bow of her head.

"That I can promise."

"When would you have me go?"

"When we know where he is. In the meantime, I would have you train with me, every dawn, if you let me."

_**OOO**_

Weeks and fights and camps followed before Mira found herself alone, standing before the doors of a house. The rebels were headed for Mount Vesubius, while Spartacus took Aurelia and her son to Pompeii, to be reunited with the remains of her family, as free Romans and with coin and supplies enough to help them start a new life there, thus sealing his debt and promise to Varro.

The woman in the brothel said she knew no one by that name, but there was a man who called himself Rutuba and claimed to be a free gladiator. He would come some nights, filled with wine and coin, speaking of victories in the arena and asking for as many women as he could have.

The voice startled her, and before she could move, she felt a presence right behind her.

"You are not from this land. If you were you would not walk along this path, woman."

Mira turned, and the man, smiling, circled her before leaning on the wall of the house. A thick beard covered his face, still not scarred by time, and his hair fell loose on his broad shoulders.

"What would bring such a vision to this house?"

Mira gathered herself and spoke smoothly. "Are you the one they call Rutuba?"

"That is my name."

"That is a lie."

He did not stir, yet his voice changed. Cocksure tone led way to seriousness. "Who are you?"

"A friend."

"I have no friends, especially not women. I am Rutuba. Speak what you will and be on your way before I forget you are a woman and send you on your way without your clothes and that sword you try to conceal with them."

"You are not who you say you are, Gannicus," she answered quick and confident, smiling inwardly at the unexpected twist of events that name had caused in him. And new it was not the moment to wait for a reaction. Spartacus trusted her. She had to make herself respected by the rest. Now was the moment. "As for my sword and my clothes, you would have to take them from me first. And I shall not give neither to you willingly." The man made no move. She breathed and continued. "I come to speak with Gannicus, I was sent to find him and take him back with me."

"Then may fortune help you in your search."

"She already has."

"Be on your way, woman."

"My name is Mira."

"And why would Mira come here, alone, asking for a man named Gannicus?"

"Spartacus sent me."

Silence.

"The name is not familiar."

"You lie again. You know his name. All of Rome does. Every gladiator in this land knows who defeated Theokoles and brought rain to Capua. I come from the House of Batiatus, where he was trained. Like you."

Batiatus. The name stirred something inside, but he quickly suppressed it. "Word travels in Roman mouths. They speak about death in that place."

"And they do not fall short of truth. Spartacus led a revolt, supported by Crixus." She made a very intended pause. "And Oenomaus." A long, revealing silence. "You are Gannicus."

The man looked at her. There was no rage, neither happiness at the mention of a name she had been assured would have Gannicus open to her. Mira could only find an infinate pool of sadness, and something else she could not describe, unless regret branded old friendships. The story she had been told was one of a true bond between brothers, not one of treason. Finally he moved, and opened the door to the modest house. Mira followed him.

"It has been long since that name reached my ears," he finally said as he served himself some wine from a jar. He did not offer her any. "And you should treat him with the respect he deserves. He was the Doctore, not a simple slave."

Mira took a sit, knowing she would not be invited to do so, and faced Gannicus, resolved in her duty. "We are free, Gannicus, there are no titles among us, and he wears his name with pride, not shame. That house rotted the honour that his mantle brought, and he forsook it."

"You may consider yourselves equals, but he is not. He stands above us all in honour," he said in a grave voice.

"Then you must too, for it was him who asked for your presence."

There was another silent pause. Gannicus seemed to have a whirlwind of emotions he was desperately trying to tame inside. "He should not," he finally spoke. "I am but a shame to him. And a shadow of who I was."

Mira took the dagger she had concealed focusing his attention on the sword and threw it at him. Gannicus moved quickly, dodging the sharpened blade that ended its course on the wall.

"You have reflexes and two hands to wield swords again. You will be welcomed."

"And fight for what?"

"Freedom."

"Freedom?," he snorted. "Look around, woman. Look at me. I am free. This is not my fight."

"I am looking around. And seeing no life. And your arm still bears the mark of the brotherhood. I do not see a man who would not care for his brothers."

"My brothers killed the man who granted me freedom, and who before that had stood by me, given me wings to rise in the arena and taste the glory that came with it. Why would I fight with his slayer?"

"Because the only man you would call friend in this life is asking you to." She looks at him. "If only to fight by his side." She paused. "Oenomaus joined our cause because it was just. Many things happened in that house. Some terrible."

"It is a ludus, Mira. Death walks among us."

"You gladiators die in the arena. Barca died because he wanted his freedom."

Gannicus closed his eyes, remembering the man's last words about meeting him in freedom.

"The man you called Dominus slit his throat. Naevia was beaten and sold because she loved the worng man."

Naevia. He remembered her vaguely, mostly through Melitta. "I hardly knew the girl," he half-lied.

"She was Domina's body slave."

Melitta. She would replace her when she- He could not say it. "Such was a priviledged position, if she were to-"

"Her only fault was to fall in love with Crixus, serving the ludus and his Domina, and have him love her back. Is that a fair crime? To love?"

Gannicus looked away, refusing to answer. It certainly had brought disgrace to them.

"A gladiator died during a simple celebration, killed by his best friend because of a child's whim," she continued, her memory still fresh from that night where everyone had been reminded of what it meant to be a slave. Even a boy, with a single thumb, could kill a man who could break his neck with a hand. Mria stood up, and walked towards him. "Oenomaus knew it had to stop. He asked us to bring you. Would you not come in aid of a friend when he is all you have?"

Gannicus looked past her, hoping to find an answer. He had been called. To fight for a cause he did not believe in, yet Oenomaus supported. What would that do to him? Soothe his shame? Deepen the half-closed wound? Did it matter? He had called. And he had vowed he would not disappoint Oenomaus again, given the chance. Now was the time to grab his cock and be a man. He would go, be at his service. Yes. He nodded to himself. Melitta would want that. "This Spartacus…," he finally said aloud. "Who is he?"

"I already told you, he-"

"I know inflated words spoken by a woman whose heart beats for him," he said aware of Mira's feelings for the Thracian, evidenced by her sudden turn of her head. "And I have heard words spoken by travellers who marvelled at the legend. I ask about the man. Who is him? Who is this Spartacus?"

Mira did not have to think her answer. "He is a man loyal to his heart."

_**Fin.**_


End file.
